


X years old

by lanjingyeets



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, BOM Keith, M/M, Minor Character Death, coming to term with feelings, garrison keith, keith's life across the year, paladin keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-02
Packaged: 2019-06-01 13:10:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanjingyeets/pseuds/lanjingyeets
Summary: Keith's life across the years.A story of loss, finding and love.





	X years old

You’re ten years old, and you’re standing by your father’s grave. You feel the world falling apart, but what world, now that you’re alone, now that you have nothing left. You have a home that isn’t a home anymore, not now that it’s empty, and cold, not now that the bed feels too hard and you can’t shake the thoughts out of your head.

You remember the puppets by the window, how your father used to take them at night and make stories with them, because he was terrible at reading them and would never get the voices right. So he just created them, for you, with the funny voices and you would try to reply, to talk back, but it was no use. It was his domain.

And now those puppets lie there on the floor, forgotten. Getting dusty, time already taking its toll on the faded fabric, a tiny red jacket that you’d called yours, even though it barely fit your hand. Your dad had just laughed and said, «Well, hope you don’t feel too cold.»

You pass past them, as you carry your carton box upstairs, you ponder whether you should take them, just to have something to remind you of what once was and is no more.

But then you remember the lady’s words at the funeral, how kids were mean back at that place where they’re going to take you, and what if they break a puppet? You don’t know how to repair it. So you leave them there, and you leave the majority of what once was your life, with just a carton box filled with clothes and a couple books. Your mother’s knife is safe under your shirt, under your jacket which you’ve carefully zipped up to your chin. You don’t know if they’ll take it away from you, but you don’t want to risk.

You gaze behind for a last time, and see the place you’ve called home until now.

You’re ten years old, and you lose everything for the first time.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re twelve years old, and you hide your head between your knees as you hear the principal yelling something at you, and his voice rises and rises, and you hate it. You hate it when you people yell, but then you yell as well, so does that mean that you hate yourself as well?

You don’t know, you can’t think straight. There’s blood running from your nose, and your hands hurt, they burn, that asshole poured boiling water onto them. You raise your head just a little, enough to see him on the other side of the corridor, tears running down his ruined face, now that there are blotches blooming purple and red on his cheeks. He sees you looking at him and he raises a trembling finger, he points it at you and he yells as well, screaming bloody murder. «He’s a _demon_ , his eyes are yellow! He tried to bite me!»

You did, but only because he was hurting you. He pulled your hair. You lick the inside of your cheek and feel your teeth, you wonder if they’ve always felt this pointy and sharp, but then the principal lowers his head to take a look at you and you quickly lower your head and growl, but he grabs you and your forearm stings where he holds, there are burns there as well, and you yell and try to move away, but it’s useless.

He drags you to the Room, to the darkness that you know is going to wait for you. Useless are your cries, your pleads and your attempts at making him listen, _I didn’t start it I swear, He poured water onto me, He hurt me_. Everything goes unheard.

You fall onto the dusty ground, and you think about the puppets that are probably still on the floor back home. Your _real_ home, because you refuse to consider this prison your house. You feel like crying, but you don’t, not yet. You wait for the principal to yell for the last time, telling you that you’re going to stay there until you’ve pondered your actions, and that you won’t get to eat dinner this night.

Then the door closes, and the walls of the Room close over your head, suffocating. It’s hot, the Room is right above the furnace and you can already feel sweat and dust cling to your forehead pressed to the floor.

You let a tiny sob escape your lips and you quickly drag yourself to your corner, feeling the floor for your special board and winching when your burnt hands catch some loose splinters. You find your board and raise it, tasting inside until you feel the bottle of aloe you stole from the infirmary almost a year ago, you squeeze half of its content and massage it into your skin.

You’re twelve years old, and there’s no one left to mend your wounds, while tears roll down your face.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re fourteen years old, and there’s a man standing in front of you, with a big smile on his face. He seems nice, but you’ve since long learned not to trust strangers.

He’s tall, and built. Compared to him, you feel like the kid you are, with your scrawny body and messy hair, and you don’t understand why he’s staring at you. You tuck your chin and the guy next to you snickers, but you try to ignore him. Then the principal clears his throat and you know better than to keep your head down, and you look straight in front of you, where the man’s shirt is neatly tucked under a thick belt.

The man lowers his head and he smiles at you, and you don’t feel threatened anymore. «What’s your name?» he asks kindly.

You sit straighter your back and you don’t even know why, and still you hesitate. «Keith,» you whisper after a while, your voice scratchy and still too high for a fourteen-year-old boy.

«Keith and..?»

«Keith and nothing else.»

The principal clears his voice again and looks at you, and you bite the inside of your cheek. But the man still smiles, and small creases form around his eyes. He’s someone who smiles a lot, Keith can tell. He thinks he hasn’t seen someone smile sincerely since his father was still around.

«Do you like space, Keith?,» the man asks, and you nod timidly. His smile grows bigger.

You’re fourteen years old, and a man named Shiro comes and takes you with him, to a place called Garrison and you realize this is where your father worked, and he’s free for the first time in four years. He welcomes the clean and fresh hair with a sigh that fills his lungs, and Shiro smiles next to him. Then he pats your head, carefully, he knows you’re still a wild animal, after years left unsupervised, made of the darkness of the Room and the flavorless meals.

You tense, but you don’t shrug him off. Shiro’s hand is big, and warm. It feels nice, you think. Almost familiar.

He removes his hand and brings it to his chin, thoughtful. «You’re probably gonna have to cut it a little,» he says then. «It’s almost covering your eyes.»

You tug at the loose strands that fall onto your face and tug at them, crossing your eyes as you try and look at them. «I don’t know how to cut it» you say quietly, looking up at him. He just shrugs. «I can help you,» he offers.

You let your hand fall, and hug your body. «If that’s not a problem» you reply, and look at the high doors of the Garrison, shiny and white and so big you feel like the most insignificant ant in the world.

You’re fourteen years old, and you feel like you’re living again.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re fifteen years old and life at the Garrison is not easy, but Shiro makes it bearable. He’s there when you get in a fight and he defends you from Iverson, he’s there to mend your wounded knuckles when you punch too hard and the skin breaks.

He’s there when you’re just seconds close to being thrown away like a broken doll, like the messed up little thing that you are, and yet you stay, because Shiro won’t let you go, and he makes a promise. «I will never give up on you.»

He’s there the first time you break the sim record for the first time and your name pops up the list, above a shining TAKASHI SHIROGANE that gets pushed to second place.

He’s there and he shines, and you’re too afraid to look.

You’re afraid you’ll burn.

One day you blurt out that you used to live nearby, and Shiro’s face lits up. «Can we walk there?» he asks, and you’re not sure, you’ve never done it. He still grabs his jacket and hands you yours, you put it on and it still looks huge on you, no matter how many times you roll up the sleeves. «C’mon, we’ve still got some hours of light. It’ll be like a secret adventure.»

You’re reminded of the games you played with dad, the hour-long tag games and hide-and-seek, including that time you climbed the tree and fell, and your father was there to catch you before you could touch the ground.

You wonder if Shiro would stop you from falling, or if he would rather be the one to push you.

Shiro walks fast in front of you, all broad shoulders and straight back and you can’t avoid looking at him. You wonder if you’ll be that taller too, once your stupid body decides to grow. Then he stops and you almost walk into him, stopping a breath away from his jacket.

He turns, and he has a big smile on his face. «Wait here a second, I’ve got an idea.»

He walks inside an office, and you just stand there, clutching the hem of your red jacket and sending glares to the few students who walk by and notice you, whispering «He’s that orphan kid who broke the record.»

Like you need them to remind you of that.

You huff and open your mouth to reply, but Shiro returns and ruffles your hair, smile bigger than before. «Let’s go, it’s not that far away. It’ll take us an hour best to get there and come back.»

You raise your head and look at him, but he’s already turned around and walking fast. «How do you know?» you ask, and he just turns his head grinning. «I checked your profile. Your previous address was in there, you know.»

You bite your lip, and «Will this get you in trouble?»

«Nope, unless you get hurt.»

«I won’t get hurt!» you squawk offended, and he laughs, walking around the corner and to the entrance. «I know, I know. I’ve seen you stand up from more fights than I’ve ever fought.»

You furrow your eyebrows, simply because you can’t imagine Shiro getting into a fight, but what do you know about him.

You walk past the entrance, and you’re free once again. Just like last time, you breathe deeply and stretch your arms, and smile at the pale blue sky, already tinted with orange along the horizon. Shiro pats your shoulder and you follow him silently, looking around and at the big, big building that you know is your home, despite everything.

You walk, and you lose sense of time. You look down and kick the smallest rocks you can find, following them with your eyes until they disappear in a bush or in the shadow of a tree, and then you start your hunt again. You lose yourself in the colors of the ground, the rich brown and amber and the clay that covers your shoes. You feel one with the world around you.

Then Shiro calls your name, once, twice, and only after he’s called you a third time you raise your head, your eyes big and lips parted. You recognize the walls, the porch where you used to sit, and your tire swing. You recognize the sun that peaks past the house – _your house_ \- and it’s all there, it’s all like it used to be.

You take a step forward, and you tremble just a little, trying to hold back the tears. You take another step, and another, and another, and before you know it you’re running home and placing your open hands against the door, feeling the warm wood under your palm and breathing its familiar smell. You place your forehead against the door and sigh, your lips moving in words that even you can’t understand. Before you know it, your face is wet with tears, running down your cheeks and down your neck, drawing small dark dots onto your clothes.

You grab the doorknob and twist it, and when the door won’t open you cry harder, sliding down until only your raised arms keep you from falling on the floor.

Shiro doesn’t step closer, he waits patiently by the porch, his eyes never leaving you. You feel them, you feel _him_ and yet you can’t stop crying. You can’t stop being weak.

You don’t know how long it takes for you to stop crying. By the end of it, your throat hurts and your cheeks are aflame, burning, emotions churning inside your chest. Only then your hear Shiro move closer, you see him squatting next to you, his face painted with worry. «Are you okay?,» he murmurs, and you huff because no, you’re not okay, you feel so weak that it’s almost pathetic, you shake your head and hide behind your sleeves, drying your cheeks with so much fervor that it hurts.

«I’m sorry for dragging you out here» you murmur, and Shiro raises a hand; hesitant, he puts it against your back and rubs, and you close your eyes at the warmth of his palm, at the protectiveness that radiates from his touch. «You have nothing to be sorry about. I was the one who offered to come, after all.»

You sniff and run your sleeve under your nose, making a wet chuckle. «I guess.»

Then you stand, but when Shiro makes to move to the side to let you walk you just shake your head and walk to the shed. You still remember where the secret passage is, and you hope no one has found it. You hear Shiro call your name and you ignore him, moving a wooden board to the side and sneaking inside. You open the door, and let Shiro in. «This was my… it was dad’s» you say, walking to the covered beast resting in the middle of the shed. You pull the duvet, and see the faded red of the hoverbike shine.

Shiro whistles behind you as you walk to the driver’s seat, running your hand across the leather. «Dad taught me how to drive it,» you murmur, and Shiro moves his gaze from the hoverbike to your face, an eyebrow raised. «He did?»

«Yeah. I was good. But he kept his hands close so that he could intervene if I did something wrong.»

Shiro hums and moves close to you, leaning to look at the commands. «I wonder if it still works» he comments, and you look up at him indignantly. «Dad and I treated it with care,» you bite, and your eye falls onto the gas tanks by the door. You quickly walk to them and grab one, uncorking it. «I’ll show you, just wait» you grumble.

Shiro smiles that usual smile of his, the one you’ve learnt to recognize as fond, with the crinkles around his eyes and the warm eyes. He moves to a side and lets you do what you know, his arms crossed over his chest as he follows every one of your movements.

Once the tank is empty you throw it to a side and jump onto the seat, turning the engine on. It rumbles and purrs, and you smile satisfied with your job. Without waiting for Shiro’s reaction you jump head first and in the matter of a couple of seconds you’re out of the shed, the wind running wildly through your hair. You make a ride around the house and when you come back Shiro is waiting by the shed, looking at you stunned.

Then he smiles, and shakes his head with a laugh. «My fault, I shouldn’t have underestimated you» he confesses, raising his hands.

You huff, and shake your head. Shiro moves closer and pats your shoulder, leaving his hand there. «Do you want to stay more?» he asks, looking at you with knowing eyes.

You think about it, you think about the forgotten puppets and the hundreds of things you realized you had forgotten, only when it was too late to go back and get them. You think about your father’s room, about the big posters and the faded covers of the books.

You look at your home, and then you look at Shiro, and you shake your head. «We can go» you murmur.

He smiles, and sits behind you on the hoverbike. «You’ll drive, but I’ll give you the directions» he instructs, and you nod only because you don’t know what else you can do. «Do we go back to the Garrison?» you ask, and he smiles. «Not yet. I wanna show you something first.»

You drive, slowly now that you’re with Shiro with you, and you don’t want to make him fall. He guides you to a cliff and there you park, you both step off. Shiro leans against the hoverbike, while you don’t know where to put your hands, where to stand. «Shiro..?» you call softly, and he smile. «Look at this gorgeous sunset» he murmurs, turning his face to the horizon.

It really is, gorgeous. The sun dips its golden face behind the mountains and paints everything in gold and orange, the sky is already midnight blue at the other side of the world that you can hug with your gaze.

It’s beautiful, and it leaves you speechless.

«One day we’ll be up there, and this place will be nothing more than a minuscule dot,» Shiro murmurs. When you turn to face him, you see that he’s raised his head to the sky. His almond eyes are big, full of wonder and hope. He looks like a normal college kid, content with his life, just waiting for a fallen star to reach him. Then you remember that he’s Takashi Shirogane, the Golden Boy of the Garrison, and that in just a couple of years he will be up there for real, touching the infinity of space with his hands, and when you look down at yourself, you see nothing.

You wonder where you will be, while he’s up there fulfilling his dream.

«Shiro,» you call, and your voice breaks, still strained after all those tears. Shiro turns his head to face you, still that soft expression in his eyes. You swallow on hard air and keep your head up, even though you feel like you want to run away and never come back. «Why did you pick me? At the house» you breathe, and sink your head between your shoulder like as if fearing a hit.

But Shiro, Shiro just smiles at you. He looks at you like you would look at something precious, and you don’t understand _why._ «I chose you because I saw quietness,» he replies, and you raise your head to look at him bewildered, almost disappointed. «…Just that?»

Shiro laughs and shakes his head, turning it back to the horizon. «I saw someone who would make it, and touch the farthest stars we can only imagine from here.»

You’re fifteen years old. You watch as the last beams of the sun wash over his face in a cascade of gold, and think that you’d follow this man to the farthest star and beyond.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re seventeen years old, and you think you’re falling in love. You search the weight of his hand on your shoulder, his warm voice, his scent. You search his hands over your body during your training sessions and the sheer power of his grip as he pins you down and tells you to yield, _you’ve lost this round as well, Keith_.

You’re seventeen years old, and you’ve never been happier.

You’re seventeen years old, and suddenly the world crashes on itself, burying you alive.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re eighteen years old, and you search. For an answer, for a place, for a reason. You search and you don’t even know what. You wait and you dream of far away galaxies, or rays of red and black against the milky white sky; you hear a voice that calls your name and tugs at something within you, and you don’t know what it is.

Then, the sky paints red and gold, and as you watch as a burning body fall from the atmosphere, you feel it’s time.

You don’t take much; only a bunch of explosives with the detonator, and your hoverbike. You run fast with the aid of the night, you avoid the military vehicles and set your traps. You move, and then you detonate the bombs.

The noise is loud enough to be heard from the Garrison, you can see its dark silhouette sticking out against the sky. You watch as the doctors and the men run outside the military camp, and you take your chance. You make your way through punches and kicks, and then you see him.

And then you breathe, for what feels like the first time after months.

Shiro lies unconscious, his head tilting to a side. You stretch your arm and touch his face with trembling fingers, fearing to break him. He seems so fragile, now.

«Shiro,» you murmur, but he doesn’t wake up. You don’t expect him to.

Three other guys step inside, they’re from the Garrison. You’re forced to take them with you, you have no intention of losing Shiro again. You jump off a cliff with a way too heavy hoverbike to save yourselves, and you make it. You remember Shiro’s tips and your dad’s teachings, and you make it.

You still can’t believe, you think looking at the post-it covered wall. Shiro rests in your couch and he looks so small, so vulnerable, and you can’t believe it.

The other kids you brought with you are passed out on the floor of your shed, limbs messily tangled up, the big one snorts in his sleep. You, on the other hand, stay alert and play with your knife, you still have it after all these years. Your eyes fall onto Shiro’s motionless form, and you don’t notice the blade running down your finger until you feel it burn and you hiss, raising your hand to the level of your eyes and following the thin stray of blood, dripping onto your glove. You quickly shove it into your mouth and suck it, ignoring the sting of pain.

Then, wordlessly, you slip onto the floor and drag yourself to the couch, pushing Shiro’s hair away from his face. You stay there until he wakes up, with your knife between your hands, like the guardian of a treasure would do.

 

You’re eighteen years old, and you feel a responsibility that weights onto your shoulders more than your father’s death. You remember the days back at the Garrison when you dreamt to reach the sky, and would have never guessed that it would weight so much.

One day you walk into what you’d like to call a living room and you notice you forgot to take off your armor. With a loud sigh you stretch your back, and you realize that you don’t have the strength to take everything off. You just let yourself fall onto the couch, and close your eyes.

Then comes the chatter, Lance’s annoyingly loud voice and Pidge’s snickers, and a noisy _shhhhh_ when they notice you. You don’t even bother to open your eyes, and hope they’ll go away.

«Is he really sleeping?» you hear Lance ask.

«Let him be, he’s training all the time. He deserves rest just as we all do.»

It’s Shiro who talks this time. You turn your head and open an eye, just in time to see him send everyone away and turn to you. His lips curve into a soft and tired smile. «I knew you weren’t sleeping» he murmurs, walking to the couch.

You just raise a couple fingers to acknowledge him, and groan when he runs a hand through your sweaty hair. «I don’t want to deal with anybody» you murmur, and he chuckles. «Does “anybody” include me as well?»

You close your eyes again, you wet your lips with the tip of your tongue and «No, Shiro. It doesn’t include you.»

You can feel his smile growing bigger and he shifts closer, his hand leaving your hair. «Well, I’m glad.»

You both stay quiet. You can feel Shiro’s presence next to you and the subtle weight of his arm behind your head, where he plays with your hair. «It’s getting long again» he murmurs.

You grunt and open an eye. «I had to learn how to cut it» you murmur.

He hums, and lowers his arm to go and hold your wrist. Slowly he starts taking off your armor, piece after piece. He does it carefully, not wanting to twist your arm in an unpleasant way by mistake, placing each removed part onto the couch behind his back.

And you let him, because you're tired, and his hands are warm through the thin undersuit.

«Up with your arms,» Shiro murmurs, and you obey with a groan, letting him take off the chest piece. He puts it on the floor and takes off the leg pieces.

«Thanks,» you murmur once you're left in your undersuit, tilting your head back against the backrest. You hear him laugh, and he runs again his hand through your hair, leaving it there. «You should go to your room.»

«I don't wanna.»

«You need to take a shower.»

«I don't stink.»

«You sure about that?»

You open both eyes this time, and send him a glare. You find him snickering, his head tilted to the side. «I can just carry you, you know. You're not that heavy.»

«I grew up.»

«And I grew stronger. Let me do this for you.»

You huff, and then you nod, knowing that it's going to be a lost cause. «Okay. But you'll bring the armor back to its place, then.»

«Deal.»

Five minutes later you hold onto Shiro's back, your cheek resting against his shoulder and his hands holding your thighs against his waist. He walks slowly, and the soft swaying starts to make you feel drowsy. «If the others find us like this, I'll play dead» you murmur to Shiro's ear, and he laughs. «You won't be able to get rid of Lance for a while, you know that.»

«Whatever. I can just kick his ass harder the next time we spar.»

«Language.»

You blow cold air against his neck and he laughs.

 

You're eighteen years old and you fight Zarkon. You fight him, and you lose, and when it's time for you to go you can feel the loss burning through your veins.

But you don't have much time to think about it; you make it to the Castle and into the hangar, and something goes wrong. You feel Red vibrating around you, as an unknown force drags him and the other Lions into the cold space, and gone into different galaxies.

You find yourself in the same planet as Shiro, and he's wounded and you're distant, and it's like a hole has formed into your chest and you find it difficult to breathe. So you run, using the jetpacks as much as you can to go faster. You hear Shiro through your helmet and he's pained, and in danger. You can only run faster and hope for him to be okay, just a little longer, just until you make it there.

For the first time, you pilot the Black Lion. For the first time, you feel him respond to your hands, in a desperate attempt to save Shiro. And you succeed. He's injured and tired, but he smiles at you, like as welcoming an old comrade back.

You rest. He's injured, and you have no way to communicate with the Castle, and you have no choice other than wait. Shiro tells you to lead Voltron if he doesn't make it out of there, and the thought crushes you. «Don't say that,» you whisper, and he smiles.

Then Pidge arrives, followed by the Castle. You put Shiro in a cryo-pod and just sit there, in front of it, waiting for him to wake up and hoping for that emptiness to get out of your chest.

 

You're eighteen years old and you're a Galra.

You're eighteen years old and a hologram that looks like Shiro plays with your mind and exposing all of your dark, little fears right in front of your face.

You're eighteen years old, _only_ eighteen, and yet you feel like you just keep losing; losing stuff, connections, people. You look back and think about the punches you threw, the disdainful looks people would send your way back at the House, and the darkness of the Room. You look back, and see nothing but loss.

Maybe, you think, you're made for losing. For pushing away.

But then Shiro's light breaks through the darkness of your thoughts and drags you away, away from the darkness that gnaws at your heart and your mind.

You don’t cry when you both return to the Castle of Lions, you only find the strength to drag yourself to your room and fall deadweight onto your unmade bed. You’re still wearing your armor, but you don’t care. Your body hurts and the wound on your shoulder is burning like hell, but you don’t care. You’ve seen the confused and worried looks on your friends’ faces, and you know that Shiro is explaining everything to them. The trial. The hologram, maybe. Your lineage.

You bite your lip and try to turn with a groan, closing your eyes. You wish to turn off the world around you for just one day, you wish you could rest some more…

You don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve fallen onto your bed, when Shiro enters the room. He sees you and knows you’re awake, but still he hesitates. «Keith… can I come in?»

Stupid. He knows he can, and yet he asks. You nod against the bed sheets and he moves closer, sitting next to your thigh. He holds your wrist, gently, and moves it away from your face. «You need to get out of your suit,» he murmurs.

You shake your head stubbornly, and he sighs. «Can you sit? I’ll hold you, if you feel too weakened.»

You do, but you don’t want to show it. You push yourself up with your hands and cringe when your shoulder burns more. Shiro’s there, holding you ever so gently, and he supports you against his chest. «I’ve got you, Keith,» he murmurs, and you close your eyes, leaning against him.

He takes each piece of the armor off your body, like he’s already done once, or maybe even more. You hiss when he slowly pushes the undersuit  off your shoulders and you look at the deep cut, its uneven edges and the dried blood.

Shiro looks at it and a deep crease forms between his eyebrows as he runs his fingers down the length of the cut. «It looks like it hurts,» he murmurs, and he looks up at you. You just shrug and turn your head, not wanting him to see the face you make.

Shiro’s hand is warm, and gentle against your skin. He holds your hip with a hand and pushes your hair away from your forehead with the other, leaning you against the wall. He stands and takes a damp towel, and then he’s there again, holding you against him.

You tremble, and push the undersuit off with your feet remaining in just your underwear. Shiro holds you a little stronger, a little closer, and when he puts down the towel, now pink and red, he takes a deep sigh. Slowly, he lowers his head until his forehead is against your nape, and his lips press against your neck. You turn your head, and raise a hand bringing it to his hair. He moves against your fingers, but doesn’t move his mouth from your sweaty skin. «You did so well back there,» he murmurs, closing his eyes.

Warmth pools in your tummy and a tiny, tired smile tugs at your lips. You lower your head and Shiro follows, circling your waist with his arms. You sigh and you tremble in his hold, starting to feel cold. Shiro presses his lips to your neck, then to your shoulder, again and again. You turn your head and «What are you doing?» you ask.

He stops, and raises his head, his lips leaving your skin. «Does it bother you?» he asks, his voice low and careful.

You look back at him and you part your lips, words leaving you. His eyes are deep and tired, his hands are warm against your sides. You place your hand on top of his and shake your head, closing your eyes. «No, just… please hug me.»

And he does. He holds you carefully against his chest, his hands gentle, as if handling something precious. You sigh and lean your head back against his shoulder, while his lips caress yours. Gentle fingers draw circles on your side, and you let Shiro thread his fingers with yours, his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

Shiro places a kiss against your shoulder blade, and pushes your hair back from your forehead. «Why are you crying,» he whispers.

You don’t know. You hadn’t even realized that you were crying.

You shake your head and open your mouth, but only a sob comes out. Shiro holds you stronger.

You’re eighteen years old, and Shiro is your anchor.

 

You’re still eighteen years old, and the world crushes under your feet again.

You see the light when the Blazing Sword cuts through Zarkon’s armor, and then it’s the darkness of space. You feel it in your bone, its darkness. Its coldness. Never you would have thought that space could be so frightening.

You feel a black hole opening in your chest and sucking everything within it. Your heart, your cries, your hopes.

You’re eighteen years old, and Black’s cockpit is empty.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re nineteen years old, and you lead Voltron. It’s a mess, and you know it. You feel Black purring under your hands and following your orders, you see the others do the same, and yet you feel wrong. _This was_ his _place_ , you tell yourself over and over. You don’t deserve it.

Shiro comes back, and the black hole in your chest finally closes. You hug him, and keep him as close as possible, just for one more minute, just for one more second. You see him and he looks fragile, like you’ve never seen him. You stay there with him and offer your shoulder, if he might need it.

He does, for a short while. Then he shaves and showers, he cuts his hair, and everything is back to normal.

Almost.

You’re nineteen years old, and your life is divided between the Blade and Voltron. You support one side and the other inevitably ends up falling, and you see disappointment in your comrades’ eyes. You feel it on your skin when you turn.

You fear the rejection, you almost disappear without saying a word. Shiro pilots Black once again, and you understand that it’s time for you to step away.

You’re nineteen years old, and you cherish the warmth of Shiro’s hug for as long as you can.

You’re nineteen years old, and you almost sacrifice your life for the sake of the universe.

You’re nineteen years old, and you survive. You find your mother, and you realize that you’ve always been the same scared and small kid you were when your father died.

You’re nineteen years old, and you’re not alone anymore.

 

You’re twenty-one years old, and you don’t know what’s going on in the rest of the universe.

You’re twenty-one years old, and you realize things about yourself you had always been too afraid to discover. You’re twenty-one years old, and your mother is there with you to help you understand yourself.

«That boy in your memories,» she murmurs one day, caressing your hair. «Who is he?»

You open one eye and look at her, at the space behind her head and at stars you’ve never seen before. «You mean Shiro?» you ask her, and she nods. «Was he a classmate?»

You hum and let her play with your bangs, moving them away from your face. «Yeah. Well, kinda. He went to the Garrison as well. He took care of me.»

She wispers a «Oh,» and her features soften, her eyes smiling down at you. «He seems like a nice kid.»

«He is,» you reply. You hesitate. «He helped me. A lot. He was always there when I needed help, or when I was in trouble.»

Krolia waits, and caresses your hair as you turn your head against her knee, hiding. «He never gave up on me. I owe him everything,» you murmur.

Your mother smiles and places her hand against your face, making you look back at her. «I’m so glad he was there for you, Keith,» she says.

You smile as well and close your eyes, holding her hand. Then she sighs and leans against the wall behind her back, and her gaze ends up lost between the far away stars. «Your father would have been so proud of you. Of the man you’ve become.»

You raise your head and look at her, at the sad curve of her mouth. You scoot closer and bring your legs to your chest, hugging them. «Do you miss him?» you ask, and she smiles bitterly. «There hasn’t been a day of my life when I haven’t thought about him. About you both» she replies, and looks at the fire, where the space pup you found is sleeping. «I just wish I could have stayed more. See you grow up. Hear your first words,» she continues, and shrugs. «I guess I have done a terrible job at taking care of my child.»

«But you protected me,» you murmur, looking at her. «You loved me so much. I saw it.»

Your mother smiles and locks eyes with you. «I still do.»

 

You’re twenty-one years old, and suddenly the truths you knew don’t make any sense anymore. You find a colony of Alteans, you find out a terrifying plan, and at the centre of everything, Lotor.

You go back. After two long years, you come back to the paladins. You come back and you see _him_ , and he sees you. You feel happy and you know it’s not the time, but he’s there, and you’ve missed him, and you only realize it now.

But then you think that _no, we have more important things to do now_ , and then Lotor steps into the room and it’s all chaos from then.

You run to the hangar, you almost get injured. You turn your head and you see him, you see Shiro and he’s with Lotor, and he has an expression you’ve never seen, it _scares you_.

You try to reach out for him, you try to make him reason. You know you’d follow him to the end of the universe, you know and he _knows_ , and he does just that.

Then come the clones, and Shiro attacks you, and you don’t want to hurt him, but he pushes, and pushes, and pushes. He tells you he should have abandoned you, he tells you things that hurt you and you know they are made to hurt.

And you fight. You feel your heart crumbling in your chest and you pray for it to be over, for it to just end. You wish to go back in time to those days when you only had to worry about curfew, and Shiro not being able to sneak you out of your dorm and take you to see the stars.

You wish to go back in time and save him from that terrible day, from the second he disappeared.

You wish you had disappeared in his stead.

But you didn’t.

Shiro pins you down against the cold floor, the sword blazing from his prosthetic and a light in his eyes that scares you, and it’s not him, it’s not him you repeat to yourself as you hold onto your blade, trying to push him away, trying to make him reason.

You’re strong, but he’s stronger, and you both know. Slowly, Shiro’s sword make its way towards your neck, inch after inch bringing you closer to death. You find the strength to open your eyes as he tries to win against your hold onto your blade, and you see his face. For a second that familiar shape overlaps with a scene from the past, Shiro’s face lightened by the sunset sky, his eyes full of hope and dreams as he gazed into the infinite.

«I love you,» you murmur, and you don’t know where it comes from, but it does, and it’s like a weight has been taken off your shoulder. At the same time, that same weight is put onto Shiro’s, and you see his façade break down in tiny little pieces, a new light, desperate, incredulous, being born in his eyes.

It breaks him. Your words break him and they break you too, because you wish you had realized it sooner. You wish you had told him sooner, spent more time with him, held him against you when nightmares shook his dreams.

But it’s too late, and you’ve lost every possibility of coming back. Your father, your house, your paladins. Your mother. Shiro. All gone, as Shiro tells you, his voice just a growl, low and suffering.

You almost give up. Almost. Then new strength flows through your body, and with a determination you’d thought you’d lost long ago, you summon the Black Bayard and cut Shiro’s arm off.

It’s a second. You see him teeter, pain all over his face. Then he falls, and he calls your name. And he does it with a voice so soft, so scared and broken, like you’ve never heard it.

The structure you’ve been fighting for what feels like days starts to fall apart, but you don’t care. You hold onto Shiro’s wrist as you both fall.

Then you see the light, and you welcome its embrace like an old friend.

 

You’re twenty-one years old, and you find yourself in an unknown realm of lights and stars, where everything ends and begins at the same time.

You’re twenty-one years old, and you find Shiro. And then, you discover that you’ve never really found him.

He’s dead. You repeat those words in your head and they make little sense. You try and say them out loud, and the sounds weight on your tongue with the bitter taste of poison and fear.

Shiro stands there in front of you, and you try to reach him. But you’re too slow, and he dissolves into stardust, and you’re back in the Black Lion’s cockpit. The clone you thought to be Shiro lies a few feet away, unconscious.

You get up, and the Black Lion purrs in your hands. You get up, and you’re ready to fight.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re twenty-one years old, and you’re fighting a war that is too big for you.

You’re twenty-one years old, and the whole world weights onto your shoulders, like the sky weighting onto Atlas’ back. And yet the world feels less heavy than the body he holds between his hands, Shiro’s head lulling to a side, almost lifelessly.

He’s cold, and he’s real. You push his hair from his forehead and rest your hand on his chest, where the heart beats weakly, fighting for life.

The body is weak, but the soul is strong, you remind yourself. And Shiro’s soul survives within the Black Lion’s conscience.

Allura stands and walks to the Black Lion. Her hands against his face, and life essence running through her. As she turns, her eyes shine with power. As she lies her hand on Shiro, you feel life fill his body again, his warmth, color coming back to his cheeks.

And then Shiro opens his eyes, and the light comes back in your life.

 

✵✵✵

 

You’re twenty-one years old. Shiro sleeps with his head tilted over your shoulder, and his hand between yours. He’s warm, his breath hitting your skin when he moves. Gently, you push his bangs away from his eyes and he grunts. With his white hair, he looks like a prince. He’s beautiful, and he’s here with you.

You’re twenty-one years old. You’re both alive, and nothing else matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Yell with me on [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/petitkeef) and [Tumblr](https://once-you-armin-you-cannot-armout.tumblr.com)!! ^^


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